


Almost 'Pegging' For More

by LadyPoly



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Consensual Kink, Declarations Of Love, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Heterosexual Sex, Implied shower sex, Laughter, Love, Married Couple, Married Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Pegging, Praise Kink, Restraints, Romance, Sounding, Urethral Play, female dom, male sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazy Sunday mornings with no children are always Vicki's favorite. It means while the kids are away, the adults will play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost 'Pegging' For More

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Zaria for editing. This came way out of left field but I hope you enjoy it. I mean no disrespect to MC or VV. I adore them and am aware this is a work of fiction. 
> 
>  Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

It’s a sunny Sunday morning when Misha opens his eyes to take in the sun. Vicki is shuffling behind him as he catches her naked form out of the corner of his eye. She’s humming, soft and pleasant. He snorts, a smile growing on his lips when he realizes what it is, his arms reaching as far up as possible as he stretches the dozy feeling from his limbs. He lays against the pillow, watching her, soaking in her presence as he slips from sleep’s grasp and into everything that’s her. His eyes follow her, the way her curves move, her body tall and lean, admires her few stretch marks from bearing their children. He misses the fullness of her, the way she looked round and firm, bursting at the seams by the end. He always had a hard time keeping his hands off her, but pregnancy had made it worse. She had driven him mad with the waddle in her hips and the glow of her skin, the radiance of love when she stroked her stomach and the thrill of adding such a thing to their lives, to their journey.

He reaches out to skim his hand across her hip, grasping at her before pulling her close to the bed, burying kisses and the scruff of his face in the swell of her back right above the perfect curve of her ass. She chuckles.

“Good morning to you too, my love,” she replies. “Someone is happy this morning,” he growls into her skin, nipping at her flesh as she jumps, teeth grazing the curve of her ass before pulling her down and into him.

“You have no idea,” she practically purrs at that and within an instant he turns, throwing her into the mattress beside him, hands, fingers spread wide, lips and heated fever including kisses everywhere. She loves this, their mornings when family took the kids away and they could play without worry when he rose, when they could embrace their desires like they used too. She bucks against him, the power, the muscle in his arms, legs and torso surrounding her like a cage. She gives in for a while, hands memorizing the curve of him again, fingertips wide and trying to cover all of him with her as she strokes at him, tastes him as she returns the fire against her lips to his bronzed soft skin. She grows weary of his games though, an itch beneath her skin for this to be better than their usual connection, to bring back the adrenaline and break him, herself, them, until no-one can walk, until the words fall away and escape only as breath amidst the ecstasy.

With one well placed knee against the perfect curve of his hip that she loves so dearly, they flip, him pinned under her, his eyes the bluest of blue, wide and feral with lust. She chuckles darkly against his ear, her curls shadowing both their faces, his hands holding her pelvis against his as she drags her clit along the underside of his arousal. His eyes close in a low breathy groan, cock twitching and thick.

“I have plans for you Misha….” she hisses, voice thick with direction, heavy with the warning she doesn't need to give him as her nails drag down the center of his now panting chest, digging at the flesh and making his skin goosebump as he shivers.

“Anything--” he chokes out, caught in her eyes and their dark desired lust, “anything you want, yes--” she cups his face, watching his tongue lick at his lips like he’s suddenly thirsty and maybe nervous. She smiles.

“Good boy…” she drawls out, growling the words as he soaks them in. She scratches at his scalp as she messes the dark locks upon his head, “Don’t move.”

“Yes... my lady,” his eyes flash, features relaxed, poised and waiting. She closes her eyes, the low submissive tone breaking her out in a new kind of heat as it pools in her stomach. God, she loves this man, always so eager to please her.

It takes a moment, thumbing through the locked drawer in the cabinet he made them, looking for the object she desires. She finds it waiting, cold, metallic and perfect. She finds one more object, silicone, newer than the others and the perfect shade of glistening black. She turns, eyes locked on the lubricant still on the bedside table from their night previous, mild teasing and vanilla as he shot across her thighs already half asleep amidst their fun. Sometimes payback was plentiful and fun.

“Middle of the bed, arms up,” his eyebrow raises but lowers with a small grin pulling at the corner of his lips when he sees the long strands of dark navy ropes dangling in front of him. He does as he’s told. He lays against the mattress, her crawling towards him like a panther. He’s all prey under that gaze, all victim to her wishes, to her desires and fantasies as he feels the tug, the slight burn against his skin. He pulls. He’s never going to get out of that. She looms above him, their lips connecting in a solid bruising kiss that gives her all the reassurance she needs to move forward.

Misha’s eyes close at the snap the lubricant opening, his brain telling his lungs to slow the panting starting in his chest, trying to slow the arousal and heat thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t see the metal rod pinched between her fingers, or the way her eyes lower as she suppresses the groan in the back of her throat. She caresses it lovingly, eyes darting over his relaxed form, his body sinking into the mattress as the ropes that ensnare him pull slightly at the weight added to them. Leaning over, perched on her knees, she eyes his erect arousal, the thick lines of his manhood, the pearl of precum glistening on the slit of him as her mouth waters. Her hand coils him, sliding up teasingly towards the head before kissing it softly, perhaps in apology for what she is about to do. His eyes snap open, lips parted as his breath quickens against his own attempts. He practically vibrates when the metal tip sits gingerly against the slit of his cock, teasing the hole. He gasps, eyes widening, choking on his own voice. She smiles wickedly and begins to push it in.

It’s a feeling that always breaks his brain, makes his body shiver from both pleasure and pain, embarrassment and need. She stops when his cock twitches, the feeling sending mixed signals, the pressure confusing him into needing, wanting to come or pondering the need to urinate. He whimpers when she continues. It feels so good to be filled like this, he hasn’t words for it. It’s both a feeling of wrong, a feeling of naughty and one he can’t quite figure out as all of it ruins him in the best way. He squirms, her voice cooing him to just wait it out, ropes rubbing at his skin, reddening it as he waits for it stop. When it bottoms out, Misha’s eyes roll back into his head, and the groan from within his chest could rattle the windows. It’s still cold. Vicki licks her lips slowly.

“Beautiful,” she licks a long line up the vein protruding on the underside his dick, “such a good boy.” He practically sobs and moans at the same time. She blows cool air against his heated hole just to watch him squirm as she lubes her fingers. He knows what’s coming, and judging by the look on his face as she posed between his legs, hovering above his pelvis, ready to bury her face in the neat trimmed dark curls of his pubic hair, he is already imagining it, brain signaling the fireworks are coming and she hasn’t even started. She strokes his knee, a signal he’s been trained to know means raise them, his ass rising to meet her fingers as his cock bobs against him. She traces it, teases as he breathes harshly, watches his chest heave before inserting a finger and going as deep as she can, knuckle swallowed by the clenching heat as he flushes the most brilliant shade of pink.

It doesn’t take long to open his puckering flesh. Misha always did love this part, regardless of the gender who did it or if he did. He knows he’s rewarded when he opens, knows he can be filled deeply until he can’t cum anymore, until he cries out and begs for it to end because he can’t possibly do it again, collapsing into a heap of spent blissful endorphins. A second finger, and he stirs, trying to stop the buck of his hips onto her fingers, trying to behave for her as she quickly inserts three, finding a rhythm that makes her own thighs slick with wetness as she relishes in the pleasure of such an act. It’s powerful, controlling, and almost euphoric. He is all hers, trembling, quaking and begging for her, whimpering and gasping when she finds his sweet spot, teasing the gland mercilessly as he thrashes, causing the rod to send more jolts of pleasure, more mixed signals as she watches his whole lower stomach and bladder protest. His noises signal she’s winning when his words are nothing but a string of broken English and Russian phrases of pleasure. He’s broken out in a sheen of sweat, his skin glistening as the sun warms their bed and bodies through the window and the L.A. summer heat begins to rise in the late morning air.

“Good boy, Misha,” she trails a hand down his heaving chest, presses just barely on his abdomen as he cries out. She thumbs the black silicone of the Feeldoe between her fingers, admiring it’s thickness before removing her other fingers from her husband’s clenching hole. He moans, eyes watching her, wanting her so badly, waiting as he practically vibrates the bed. He’s so past needing to come, so past needing to feel her skin on his, of needing to watch her come with his name tearing past her throat.

“Vicki--sweetheart, please...” she purrs deeply, meeting his gaze as pushes up onto her knees, higher so he can see her. She glistens, thighs slicked in her own wet desire. She holds the toy up for him to see, watches the trail of his crystal blue ocean eyes follow her hands. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth and inserts the object. Misha watches it disappear, the end erect before her, her hand stroking it much like he would his own arousal, a moan passed her lips as she rolls her hips to adjust it inside her. She shudders and he almost breaks at the sight. He cries softly for her, eyes watering with the need for release. She's beautiful, she is his everything and he needs to have her give him release beneath those hands, to be free of the fire she set to him, for her to douse the flames engulfing him entirely body and soul.

She moves before him now, admiring his gaping hole, checking it again with her fingers just one last time before she lines them up, raising his left leg above her shoulder, eyes locked, both panting and reaching their limits.

“I love you,” he nods, eyes closing as he bites his bottom lip, chewing on it before replying her in a shaky breath, his voice low and caught between himself and his Angelic persona.

“I love you too,” it signals their yes, their I’m still okay, and please just do it already. They know this dance, they’re beyond words now. She knows him inside and outside, could give whole speeches on subjects as if she were him and never get it wrong. She is he, and he is she. They are one, ying and yang, together in all they do and love is their foundation. Their sex, their love making and desire are their sanctuary.

She pushes in, bottoming out in him immediately, thighs pressing against his ass, the tickle of his pubes against her own, as he throws his head back and begs, thrusts down, clenching around the thickness as the tears trickle fine damp lines across his temples and into the bed. She groans at the sight, her desire reaching its point as she begins to move them. Misha’s voice raises like a chorus, nothing coherent, just gasps, moans, growls. He’s desperate, begging, clutching at the sheets as she grasps at his hips, pushes inward harder on each thrust. She can almost imagine the point of the toys solid curve against his belly inside of him when they hit the right angle.

“My sweet Misha,” she breathes out on a push in, pulling back and sinking deep as they find a rhythm like the one he makes her heart beat with when she sees him, when he holds her, takes her and says “I love you. You’re so beautiful, so perfect.”

Her fingers will bruise him, and he’ll wear them like a badge of honor, trace them and glance down at himself until they fade, after all he loves the reminders. She’ll lotion the rope burns and kiss them as they fade, hidden beneath his long sleeves when they rejoin the world around them. She thrusts forwards and with one motion gently slides the sound rod away as she looms over him. He acts like a man possessed as she does, egging him on as she keeps thrusting and her insides feel the fuck of the dildo also buried inside herself.

His seed explodes across his stomach, whiting out his vision, bursting his lungs as it pours blissfully down around him as it slides away. She pushes through it, etches the look on his sweat covered face, wild hair and plump full crimson abused lips from him biting them, into her brain. Without the rod, Vicki pulls the other leg up around her shoulders, pulling him against her as she lets loose everything she can. Her heart races through her veins, her husband's skin red as though she whipped him, heaving as he tries to catch his breath. She can feel it, the tingling, the tightening in herself as she braces for it. She reaches up, a rope coming free as his hand finds her hair, lovingly tangled in the curls before he pulls harshly, the dark raven locks twisted around his knuckles, his hips bucking into thrusts.

“Come on Vicki, just for me--fuck--fuck--” Her head goes back as her orgasm paints them in her juices, his hips raised, both of them collapsing into the mattress as the sweat trickles down their necks, down her back and against the swell of her ass where Misha’s hands holds her closely, not caring about the other still tied to the head board. Her vision comes back slowly, Misha’s hand removing the toy awkwardly pressed inside him and herself. It falls somewhere to the floor before he kisses her repeatedly, lips lovingly removing the sweat from her skin.

“I can’t feel my fucking legs,” she chuckles into the crook of his neck, nuzzling him gently, reaching up to untie him. He rubs his wrist momentarily where the rope pulled.

“Bet you feel your ass though, hmm?” She gasps when his free hand smacks her across the ass and stings. He laughs, the movement shaking his body as well as hers. She curls against him, his hand stroking against her skin lazily. The sun is warm through the window as they bask in their glow.

Misha sighs, “We should shower--and then raid the fridge--I’m starving, fuck getting dressed” Vicki hums in agreement.

“Green tea ice cream and honey with fruit sounds really good... might even feel like round two in the kitchen... in case you're feeling grateful for round one.” Her lips press into his neck, sucking on an earlobe when he groans.

“Shower first,” he hisses, “I have to piss before anything.” Vicki blinks, eyeing him as he slips away and erupts into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Oh my god, I never even thought about that when you woke up!” Misha rolls his eyes, legs wobbly and jello-like as he curls his toes when they swing over the side of the bed. He runs a hand over his face. “You should have said something” Vicki slips beside him, arms draped around his waist as she kisses the back of his neck, her chin on his shoulder. He grins softly, his hand finding hers as he thumbs her wedding ring.

“Ruins all the fun, sweetheart.” She sinks as she fills with warmth at the way he says it, watches their hands as he feels her heart against his back, the rise and fall of her breasts pressed against him.

“You’re such a kinky fucker, Dmitri. What would your fans think?” she teases softly, voice low and relaxed. He ponders her words.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve probably guessed most of them with Jensen or as Cas through Dean--Lord knows who else they’ve paired me with or what they've made me do in them” She snickers.

“I’ll grab the laptop when we go downstairs.” He laughs as she crawls away from the bed and drags him towards the shower. “Besides... maybe they’ll think of something new to try” His eyes close with a low stirring groan when they enter the bathroom.

With an empty bladder, Misha captures her lips against his, pressing her into the shower wall when she starts the water. His brain swimming with possibilities now..

“Guess the kitchen will have to be round three.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Your feedback is always a blessing!


End file.
